The Puzzle (14 page)

I just wanted to go to bed and sleep for a hundred years.

A policeman approached me, while the paramedics were checking my stats and probing me for injuries.

“We’d like to ask a few questions.”

Thankfully, Clay protested for me.

“Can’t you see the state she’s in? You can ask her questions tomorrow.”

Under the painful sting of an IV injection for hydration, and after being loaded onto a stretcher, somehow I managed a question of my own first. I gave him the best smile I could muster, and keeping things as light as I could, considering the circumstances.

“Am I going to get a ticket for not wearing my seat belt?”

Chapter 26

Surfing, Bytes, and Phishing With The Net

Stuck at home, I nursed my wounds while Martha watched over the store. I was methodically documenting on my laptop my fall from grace at Cullasaja River Gorge. Unfortunately, the only view I saw appeared on the multiple bruises covering my body. Like I told the police, I didn’t have time to recognize the truck that looked as though it was going to plough right into me on the narrow hairpin turn. I’d tried to get to it first before him, but didn’t make it.

I sat thinking. Maybe it was something for me to investigate and maybe it wasn’t. Were my reactions all fear-driven?

The police said I was lucky to be alive, and after evaluating the skid marks, gave me a lecture on vehicle safety and a ticket for careless driving. I expected my insurance company to lecture me on my driving and raise my premium.

When Jack and Clay visited, they dove right in, lecturing me about safe driving. Almost before they’d begun, they suffered the verbal sting of my feral reaction. Being men of high IQs, they quickly did an about-face, and discreetly left, disappearing while both of them were still in one piece. I guess they got the message I’d suffered enough with cuts, bruises, and likely future monetary penalties.

But after they’d left, I was definitely puzzled. Who would want to drive me off the road? Questions swirled around in my head, which hurt, by the way, a lot. I wanted to further check out the car accident that killed Stephen’s foster parents. If I remembered correctly, they were killed at about the same area where I went over. Even though I was temporarily laid up, I could still use my computer to keep my research moving forward, backdating old newspaper articles in the local paper from the year and month Jack had said the accident occurred. Maybe, I would finally learn some details Jack had forgotten or omitted from our last conversation. Maybe I’d find another link in the chain that I was slowly stringing together on my laptop.

I plowed through news stories for some time until I hit pay dirt. I found the main article, which stated the Blackburns were driving on a foggy evening where roadway flashers were posted on the road up to town to warn drivers. The unpredictable mist and fog seemed to settle in at night, which resulted in some accidents or near mishaps on the winding road up from Franklin.

Apparently on the night the Blackburns were killed, they were driving home late at night from Franklin. Another driver traveling the road that same evening claimed he had seen a large truck go driving by, momentarily blinding him and almost sending him into a nearby culvert. He was an elderly man named Carl Bently, a local resident, who was visiting friends. When he corrected his steering and eventually arrived at the bend, he saw the old wooden guardrail was plowed through. He stopped, got out, and spotted the Blackburns’ car burning furiously below.

I read his description in fascination. It was so similar to what had happened to me!

“It was like a bomb had exploded,” Carl Bently continued. “I didn’t have one of those cell phones, so I jumped back in my car and raced up to Highlands to get the police, but it was too late. Later, I heard those people never had a chance. So sad, leaving
a nice boy behind like
that. What was his name again? Oh yeah, they said it was Stephen. I can tell you, I’ll make sure I’m home by seven if I have to travel that road at night from now on.”

There were subsequent articles that followed in the days after that, but they pretty much restated what the first article reported. I pondered this information. I was getting ready to close down the site when something caught my eye I almost missed while skimming the last article.

It said that Carl Bently mentioned to the police he saw a letter on the side of the truck. He couldn’t catch the rest of the word, but swore he saw one large letter as plain as day in the glare of his headlights before swerving off the road. It was the large letter T. The rest was a blur, but he would swear about that letter in a court of law.

It wasn’t much to go by, but it was something, I guess. So, maybe I should check out this Carl Bently. He might still be in the phone book. What was it - about fifteen years ago? Was he still alive? I quickly hit on Yahoo Yellow Pages and did a search. How was that spelled again?
Bentli
,
Bentle
, ah! Bently, that was it. No, no Carl Bently. Maybe someone in town knew him.

Who was about the same age at Carl Bently?

Chapter 27

Who Would Have Guessed?

Martha arrived right on time in her old Volvo. After serving her coffee, I was eager to get right to the reason for asking her over. With Martha, directness was greatly appreciated. She didn’t care for people who made small talk. Straight away we both spoke at once, and then laughed. Martha followed up, first.

“I’m glad you called, Sam, because I’ve wanted to speak with you too, but you go first. Mine can certainly wait.”

“Martha, have you ever heard of a man by the name of Carl Bently?”

“My goodness, Sam, you are going way back with that one, back to Bingo on Friday nights down at our local church in town. He was a regular all right. He used to win too,” she answered, puzzled by my question.

“I’m asking because I’m trying to check out some information regarding Stephen and what happened with his foster parents. He barely spoke of them. I know it seems insignificant, but I’m
perlexed
, trying to figure out why he never mentioned much about them or the circumstances surrounding their tragic accident. I found out that Carl was at the scene right after their car crash. I thought I would ask him some questions, but can’t seem to find him in the phone book. I was hoping you might know.”

She was silent for a moment and then spoke. “…I used to date him.”

“Really?” I asked.

“Oh, Carl and I go way back. We used to be high school sweethearts,” she said.

Hit and miss connections I had never considered were swirling around in my head. Then, I noticed she had stopped speaking, struggling with the rest. I leaned in a little, concerned, yet hopeful she might offer more. “Tell me. Please.”

“Not much to tell really. We were high school sweethearts, and then went our separate ways after graduation. About fifteen or so years ago, we met at Bingo in town. He had moved back to his childhood home, looking for some peace and quiet after his wife died of cancer. We got to talking and one thing led to another and before you knew it, we were dating again. I mean, we were more mature and older, but still it ended up being more than friendship. It was as though we had never been apart. We picked right up where we left off so many years ago.”

She looked wistful and sad all of a sudden. I’d never seen this other side of Martha before.

“What happened then?” I asked.

“We started seeing each other again on a regular basis, and could not get enough of each other, talking till all hours, making up for lost time, I guess.”

“Is he still around? I’d like to ask him a few questions about the accident.”

“You can’t,” she stated flatly. “He’s dead.”

“He’s what?”

“Deader than a doornail.”

“Martha, what happened?” “About a few weeks after the Blackburns died, he perished in a horrible auto accident.” As she spoke, she seemed to shrink back before my eyes, barely whispering her last words. Her usual sense of mischief was nowhere in sight.

“Martha, how awful! I’m so sorry. How did it happen?” I paused, and then quickly added. “I certainly understand if you don’t want to talk about it.” But silently I wished she would.

“That’s all right. It happened a while back and there is nothing I can do about it now. I’ve sort of tucked most of that pain away, although, now and then, it does sneak up on me. They found his car wrapped around a tree with him in it. He was traveling to the valley down that mountain road to Franklin. The official report said that his brakes gave way.”

“Oh! Martha!” I reached out to gently touch her. “That’s just terrible.”

“I was devastated,” Martha said, and then just sat there staring out at lost memories, I guess. She offered nothing more.

So, I said nothing. What a turn of events! Who would have tied the two of them together? Martha had become a dangling fragment in a puzzle that didn’t fit together yet, but she was now hovering just outside the periphery, waiting for me to put it all together.

She finally spoke. “You know, Samantha, I had my suspicions back then. I still do,” she said. She turned, looking straight at me, hesitating, like she was not sure if she should say more.

“If there is any way I can help, please, say the word. You know I owe you so much for all your help and moral support.”

She smiled then. “Believe me, you were such a pleasure to help. It’s just a problem I had with how he died. You see, he was so organized in planning everything and was so orderly. Frankly, it just about drove me crazy sometimes, but I was willing to overlook it because we enjoyed each other’s company so much. He brought me such happiness.”

“What was the problem?” I asked.

“There’s no way his brakes were bad, and that bothered me for a long time afterward. He was such a fanatic about his car and proud of the fact it ran like a champ and didn’t have one scratch on it. No, I’m positive his brakes were not worn out, but tampered with. You see
,
no one would listen to me. They said I was too attached to the victim to think clearly, too emotionally upset and looking for someone to blame for his death.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Could it be? Tampered brakes? What were the odds?

“Yeah, but look at you, Sam,” Martha replied quickly. “I heard you were such a sad sight to see, grieving and all when Stephen died. Later, when I actually met you and got to know you, I thought back to Carl and me, knowing just what you were going through. What happened to you the other night with your car accident, reminded me of some rough times. You came awful close to being a goner too, you know?”

“You can say that again,” I replied, trying to squash the sudden queasiness that came over me when I remembered that night.

“I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you. Three’s enough.”

Three?
“Oh, that’s right,” I said nodding. “There were three accidents, including Stephen’s.”

“I guess the two of us were just unlucky in love,” she said wistfully, shaking her head.

 
We sat for a moment, not saying a word. Then, I remembered her earlier remark that she mentioned after arriving, “What did you want to see me about?” I asked.

“You know, I almost plum forgot. I thought you might like to borrow my car now and then until you get a replacement. I only use it occasionally, walking to work because I live in town. It would give me such a kick helping you out in this small way. Please say yes? Oh, and I’ve had the brakes checked if your thinking in that particular direction.”

We both shifted uneasily, a silent undercurrent passing between us. My imagination? It suddenly dawned on me that maybe she knew a lot more than she was letting on.

I was going to add something more, but thought otherwise and quickly accepted. “I know I shouldn’t, but I think I just might take you up on that. I’m really desperate for wheels. Oh, Martha, you are such a lifesaver, making that offer. I don’t have much of a choice and gratefully accept your generosity. It would have put such a money drain on me to lease something. A mere thank you seems so inadequate though.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Sam. I’m sure you’ll think of some ingenious way to pay me back.”

“The wheels are turning as we speak,” I said, laughing.

“Now, your first trip is to drive me home,” Martha ordered, pleased her gift was accepted.

“Absolutely,” I replied. “It’s the least I can do.”

As we put our coats on to leave, Martha abruptly turned to me and said, “You know, Samantha, you could have
googled
Carl Bently. You would have pulled up his background and obit in a second.” With that, she casually walked out the door to her car, leaving me standing there totally dumbfounded.

She
googles
?